Archive of Our Own

Night had barely fallen, but the festivities had already begun.

Lord Lockwood could hear the revelry all the way from the manor on the hill, his temporary residence. His heart pounded as he adjusted his cravat in the mirror, the windows thrown open throughout his chambers to allow the warm evening air to blow in. The shouts, the laughter, the music, all seemed to bluster inside, all to serve one single reminder: She would be down there.

The Summer Solstice was upon them, this little village up north. Lockwood had inherited the manor and the title of Marquess when his uncle had died some months before, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected it to turn out like this. For it to become this.

For her to become what she had to him.

Lockwood's valet, Thompson, stood off to the side, waiting for his signal to step forward and help the marquess, but Lockwood found himself too distracted to beckon him over. He had just seen her earlier in the day, had even dared to visit her in her home with her sister and niece. Surely, tonight shouldn't matter too much, not when there had been so many other exciting and thrilling events upon them. He had seen her in action, had received the full brunt of her anger and the entire force of her fear. He had been allowed to witness her emotionally intimate moments, something he had never once considered he would be blessed with. He kept her letters tucked in a locked box beside his bed to read and reread by candlelight on nights when he lay lonely beneath the blankets.

Never before had he felt he could say the words, but now he ached to.

He longed for her.

Not just longed.

He had fallen in love with her.

With a commoner.

With Miss Lucy Carlyle.

Lockwood didn't consider himself to be much of a snob, but he knew plenty of nobles and gentry back in London who would look down upon his socialising with a laundress. He had quite a bit to say to them, but Lucy would never allow it. She just wanted to go about her life, and after the chaos and ruckus, he had brought into her world, the least he could do for her was allow her a bit of peace.

She deserved that and more.

A particularly loud shout startled him out of his thoughts, and he looked around.

"Would you like me to close the windows, my Lord?" Thompson asked politely. He didn't talk much to anyone but Lockwood, preferring not to speak unless absolutely necessary. If anything, this was practically jovial for him, and Lockwood's lips twitched.

"No, that's quite alright. I'll just finish dressing, and then I'll be on my way down to the festivities."

"Do you require my companionship?" Thompson inquired, his hands clasped formally behind his back.

"I think I'll be alright. It's just the villagers, after all."

"And Miss Carlyle?"

Lockwood narrowed his eyes at him. "And Miss Carlyle, yes. She happens to be one of the villagers."

"Isn't that fortunate?"

"Come help me finish dressing. And remember, no gossip is to be spread about Miss Carlyle. That is the last thing she needs, especially after everything she's dealt with."

"I'll take your secret to my grave," Thompson swore. "And with the way your sister will react if she ever finds out, it may be sooner than I originally believed."

Lockwood rolled his eyes, but nevertheless found himself in agreement with the valet. If Jessica discovered she had been right about his affections for Miss Carlyle, the household might be murdered and Lockwood himself thrown back in front of the queen.

As far as he was concerned, re-joining the court would be a fate worse than death. He had tried it once. It hadn't gone well.

"At least Jess could say she knew it all along," Lockwood joked as he slid on his vest. "That alone might make it worth it to her."

"If you say so, my Lord." The slightest twitch of his lips. "Enjoy your night. I daresay, your evenings with Miss Carlyle are numbered."

Lockwood didn't ask why. He didn't need to. They both knew that he was due to return to London in just a month's time, where he would be attending the wedding of his best friend and his affianced. The moment Lockwood stepped foot within the city gates, Jessica would be on him to find a suitable wife. He could only imagine the pageantry that would take place at George's wedding. A sudden flash of a parade of eligible young ladies flashed before his eyes, and he shuddered.

A fate worse than death, indeed.

"Believe me," Lockwood said to Thompson as he surveyed himself in the mirror, "I intend to make the most of tonight."

When Lockwood first arrived in the village, he had ridden nearly everywhere within it. The hill the manor house sat upon was rather steep, and traipsing up and down it multiple times a day could be exhausting. But he had long since adapted the way of the villagers, and walked down it towards the tiny town of Hastings Brook.

When he had ridden into the village the very first day, he had been greeted with stares and a rather icy silence. No one had been sure how to react to his presence. His uncle had done more damage than good for the villagers, and had even been the cause of Lucy's sweetheart dying. She hadn't trusted him at all and had made her disdain for him known. It had taken weeks for him to prove that he was nothing like his uncle, and somehow, he had won her affection, if perhaps not her love.

That would come with time – if they had it.

All Lockwood had wanted from the moment he saw her was her time and her heart, but he couldn't fool himself into believing they would find their happily ever after. That only came about in stories, the kind he'd always had very little interest in reading. Real life didn't work like that, and Lockwood refused to lie to either himself or Lucy. Even if he'd wanted to, she would never buy it. She, herself, was much too pragmatic and practical-minded to believe him.

The ground evened out beneath his boots, and he strolled down the street, smiling slightly as he passed Lucy's cottage. She shared it with her sister, Mary, and her niece, and he had grown to deeply appreciate it. He was particularly fond of the kitchen table, where they had both confessed their feelings for each other, and her bedroom, where she had just kissed him this morning. Granted, it had been to make him stop talking, but it had still happened.

A lot of the times she kissed him had happened because she wanted him to stop talking.

He seemed to have that effect on her.

Torches had been lit in the village square, wooden boards laid across tree stumps to create tables out of the way, and several villagers were clustered together with musical instruments, performing a raucous song Lockwood could only assume was local to the region. Some sang along, but he didn't know the words, so he just listened, all the while looking around, on the hunt for the pretty laundress.

People had already begun dancing, many clutching huge mugs of ale, and he grinned slightly. No wonder the festivities had begun when the drink flowed freely.

And then – movement out of the corner of his eye.

He glanced in that direction, and spotted the laundress, the jade hairpin he had once gifted her holding her auburn locks back from her face. Those blue eyes, a perfect match for the sky on a hot summer day, met his dark ones, just for a breath. Before he could even move towards her, however, she spun on her heel and vanished into the throng of people.

A strangled cry threatened to tear from his lips, but he swallowed it back.

Standing on his toes, he attempted to peer over peoples' heads to see if he could spot Lucy, but she had disappeared as swiftly as a dream upon waking. For a moment, he wondered if he had even imagined her, though that notion was surely ridiculous. Perhaps her sister had called to her, possibly to ask her to hold Eliza. The six-month-old babe had captured Lockwood's heart as thoroughly as her aunt had, though in a very different capacity. He had spent quite a bit of time with Mary Carlyle's daughter and had to admit, he was very pleased she seemed to resemble her mother and aunt instead of the father.

Neither Carlyle sister had told him who had fathered Eliza, but he could guess. All the signs were there, and he found himself thoroughly disgusted. Mary had briefly taken a nobleman as a lover, just long enough to fall pregnant, and upon discovering this, the nobleman had absconded from the village in the dead of night. It had been before Lockwood's uncle had died, or else he never would have allowed such a thing. No matter the rank of the man, Lockwood was of the opinion that if he got a woman pregnant, he should ensure that she was taken care of.

Instead, Mary Carlyle had been abandoned, and the very judgemental villagers had promptly shunned her. It had been left to Lucy to make ends meet, and she'd taken on the role of the village's laundress.

Another movement, fidgety and almost nervous, caught his attention. Lockwood turned around and spotted Simon, the rat-faced boy who had been sniffing around Lucy. Simon was scrawny despite his work in the mines, and Lockwood felt he could take the younger man in a fight if need be. He might have set his sights on Lucy, but Lockwood had no intention of losing her before he had no choice.

If Lucy asked him to let her go, he would willingly step away. But until then, she was his, and he was hers, and that was just something Simon would have to accept.

Not that the villagers knew what had transpired between Lockwood and Lucy. It certainly wasn't something he'd shouted about openly. But Simon had been watching him for weeks, and Lockwood knew this wouldn't be the last time he would accidentally catch the miner's eye.

With a shake of his head, he walked in the opposite direction, determined to avoid Simon as much as possible tonight. Perhaps Simon would hunt him down and challenge him to a duel, like something out of those romance stories, but Lockwood strongly doubted this would happen. For one thing, he didn't think Simon owned a pistol or a sword.

The dark velvet of night slowly draped over the village, the torches flickering like a lighthouse. More and more people had begun to dance in the village square, spinning and twirling and laughing in abject merriment, and as the stars twinkled up above, Lockwood's gaze finally found her.

She stood at the edge of the crowd, rebellious to her core. He'd known she was angry at the villagers for their treatment of her sister, and Mary had had to beg her to come to the festivities. Now she wavered, a ship tossed around at sea, her eyes locked with his. Her chin tilted up in the smallest beckon, and she backed up, a smile playing around her lips at the game she had created. Spinning so that her skirts whooshed with her, she ducked around one of the torches, moving quickly away from him.

He wasted no time. He picked his way through the onlookers, nodding politely and excusing himself to anyone he might have nudged, intent on the girl he had been hoping to see all night.

As he watched, she glanced over her shoulder before darting out of sight between the blacksmith's and the carpenter's. Heart hammering in his chest, he rushed after her, dodging through the alley. Before he could skid to a stop, slim fingers grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him against her, a soft giggle overwhelming his senses.

"I've been trying to reach you all evening," he breathed out, hands immediately finding her hips.

"You just haven't been fast enough." Her arms winded around his neck, pulling him in even closer. "That's definitely your problem, my Lord."

"I swear you've been hiding."

"From Simon and some of the nosier villagers. Not from you."

"Are people asking you questions?"

"Mostly just letting me know that Simon has decided I'm the girl of his dreams." Even though he couldn't see it, he knew just from her tone of voice that she'd rolled her eyes.

"That's rather unfortunate for him," Lockwood declared, his hands shifting along her waist. "I believe I got there first."

"So you did." She tilted her chin up, an invitation for him to kiss her. "I have no intentions of speaking with him tonight, and I'm rather hoping he'll put the notion out of his head. It's ridiculous."

"As ridiculous as the two of us?"

"Well," he could hear the smile in her voice now, "that's different. Falling for noblemen seems to be hereditary, even if it isn't wise."

"Is that what you tell yourself late at night?"

"Constantly." Her nails scraped down the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. "It's not wise at all. We've discussed this."

"Repeatedly. It doesn't seem to stop us, though, does it?"

"No, my Lord. Not at all."

He leaned down now and his lips met hers. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he kissed her, pouring every dream, every thought, every wish, every fantasy into this single moment. Even if she would eventually find herself wooed by Simon, or perhaps just simply won over by the promise of stability and a family, he would have this night. He would have her all to himself for as long as she would allow him.

For tonight, he could pretend that everything would work out in their favour, that it would all fall together as perfectly as the stars forming constellations across the night sky. If he could pretend, if he could hope, then he could fool himself into believing there might actually be a chance.

And she kissed him back, desperation both sweet and sour on her lips as she drew him even closer. He lifted her up, his hands cupping her arse as he backed her into the wall, and she mewled into his mouth. Warmth flushed through his body, his mind suddenly filled with salacious and delicious images of what he would do if he could just get her in his bed for one night.

He would never even make such a suggestion. Noblemen often garnered a reputation for tumbling village girls, but Lockwood had never been one of them. He would not take Lucy's virtue unless she offered it up to him freely, with no hesitations and no fears of what the future held. Until then, he was perfectly content with sneaking behind buildings and down to the brook to steal quick kisses and soft touches. Happy to slip into her cottage before she'd left for the morning, when no one else was around. Grateful for the few occasions he'd managed to get her alone in his manor.

He loved her, even though the ton would never understand. He'd fallen in love, and they could shove their snotty pretentiousness up their arse.

At long last, Lucy broke the kiss, her chest heaving against his.

"Remind me again when you leave for London?" she whispered.

"In three weeks."

"That's not much time."

"No, but I'll be back. After the wedding, I'll ride north once more. I'll return to you, I promise."

"That's what all noblemen say."

"You've heard it often, have you?"

She laughed, the sweetest melody he could ever imagine. "No, but I know what men say. Anything to get us into bed."

"But I haven't taken you to bed," he protested. "I can try harder, if you'd like, but I thought –"

"No, I'm just teasing." She hesitated. "You could try harder to convince me, if you're amenable. I won't say no to it."

"I don't want to put any sort of pressure on you, love."

"I know." She captured his lips with hers once more before drawing back. "It's not because I don't want to. I hope you know that."

"It's because this is temporary."

"Temporary bliss. The sweetest, most agonising torture." Her mouth attached itself to his neck, and his eyes fell shut. No matter what would happen between them, he would always think back on this night with a sort of nostalgic fondness. Even when she was married with a family of her own, he would love her from afar. He would walk to the ends of the world if she asked, but they both knew all too well that eventually, this tryst would and practically would take over.

He would never ask more of her than what she would offer up, but he would greedily lap up everything she gave him.

It was only when the sounds of the festivities began to dim that he finally set Lucy on the ground. She smoothed out her skirt and fixed his cravat.

"Let's hope I didn't leave any marks," she said boldly. "I thought I saw one of the barmaids eyeing you."

"I'm afraid I'm only interested in the laundress." He grabbed her hand and lifted her wrist to his lips. "That's not negotiable."

"Lovely. I'm so relieved we're on the same page. Anyway, I'll go first. I'll make an excuse to return to the cottage. I'm sure Mary has already left."

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked, feeling both desperate and terribly needy.

"Stop by at the usual time. I'll see you then." A peck on the lips, and then she was gone, wiggling between the buildings.

As she vanished, Lockwood drooped against the building, the ecstasy from the last little bit blurring into sadness and despair. It was always bittersweet to no longer feel her warmth in his arms, her presence beside him, particularly when they had so little time left with each other. Every time she walked away was just another reminder that he would be leaving the village in a few short weeks, that he wouldn't get to see her until he returned.

If he was even able to.

Of course, he fully intended to ride back to Hastings Brook, just as he had promised her. But if his sister had any say in it, he would surely find himself engaged to a woman of means. Jessica was kind and generous, and only wanted what was best for him, but she would disapprove of a commoner. Thompson had made a fair point. If Jess found out that his feelings for Lucy had turned into a full-blown affair, she would be furious. If he happened to get Lucy pregnant, Jessica would lose her mind. She had always considered their family to be better than that, to be the ones who didn't run around impregnating commoners the way so many of their friends and acquaintances did, and Lockwood had been inclined to agree. But he could not marry a commoner, not without giving up his status in society. While he wasn't partial to court and a certain way of life, he knew his duty to his family. An heir would be needed, sooner or later, and it was up to him to provide that.

It would mean giving up Lucy, as both saw wedding vows as sacred in a way many did not. She would never agree to be his mistress, and he would never ask her. He would have to leave, or perhaps she would walk away first. Whatever happened, this had been doomed from the start, and he knew he was playing a very dangerous game now. He and Lucy were on the brink of disaster, and only a miracle could save them.

Lockwood waited for as long as he could, until dissatisfaction and sadness spurred him into action. Moving swiftly through the alley, he reached the final remainders of the revelry.

Most of the torches had been blown out, though three were still lit. A handful of people still danced, though judging by their stumbling and whooping cries, they might just pass out from the alcohol right then and there.

Lockwood intended to go around the party and make his way up the hill, but before he could, his attention was grabbed once more.

It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at, but once he did, his heart felt as though it had shattered into a million pieces. His stomach dropped and he swallowed hard against the sudden anger that had risen in his throat.

Lucy had been waylaid by Simon, the scrawny rat-faced bastard. She leaned against the public house while he spoke fervently about whatever topic he had come up with. For a beat, Lockwood considered walking over and gently prying Lucy away from him, but then her eyes met his.

The slightest shake of her head. Miniscule, but just enough for him to notice it.

Alright, then.

He understood she didn't want him to draw attention to their affair, but hurt overwhelmed the pragmatism. He couldn't push it back, and instead he moved purposefully past them. She would never intend to wound him, not physically or emotionally, and he knew this. But it just melded so perfectly with his fears and his worries. Sooner or later, she would find herself marrying someone who wasn't him, and why shouldn't it be Simon? He could provide for her, offer her a life of stability in a way Lockwood could not. Simon was interested in her, attracted to her. And whether Lockwood liked it or not, Lucy hadn't seemed opposed to a conversation with him. No matter what she'd told him, her actions proclaimed a different story.

Pragmatic until the very end. That was Lucy Carlyle. His Lucy.

But judging by this discussion, she wouldn't be his for very long. That could only mean one thing – he would have to take the step she couldn't, make the decision he had never wanted to.

Ignorance had been bliss, the most lavish, luxurious bliss. But it was time to return to reality, to his reality. He understood the signs better than anyone, even if he would always struggle to follow them. But now, he had no choice. His hand had been forced. He needed to move aside and make room for someone who could offer Lucy what she so desperately craved.

In the morning, he would speak with Lucy about their current arrangement.

As she had said, this was temporary bliss, nothing more.

And it seemed their time had run out.

He had just reached the row with all the neat cottages, the lane that would lead up to the manor on the hill when he heard a cry from behind him. Spinning once more, he squinted through the dark until the smaller figure appeared. The jade pin glinted in her hair, and she sped up to reach him.

"I'm sorry," she panted out, stopping before him. "I didn't intend to speak with Simon, but his mother is wishful of buying two rhubarb pies from Mary, and Simon hoped I would be the go-between. Mary and his mother don't like each other much," she added. "And Simon is…Simon."

"He'll take any opportunity he can to spend time with you."

"But I don't want to spend time with him. Please, Lockwood. I saw the look on your face. But I have no wish to marry Simon, or even…I don't want him. I simply don't want anything to do with him, not if his intent is to take me away from you." Her hands cupped his face, her touch so tender Lockwood had no choice but to melt into it. "I just want to be with you as much as possible. Once you leave for London, it will be different, but we still have three weeks."

"Three weeks," he repeated. The weeks would turn into mere hours, he knew. Time would pass by in the blink of an eye, and he would be helpless to stop it. But three weeks…Why end this when he could revel in three more weeks with her? He should savour what he had, not walk away prematurely.

"Three weeks. Until you leave for London."

He caught her wrists, his fingers easily circling them. Bending down, he met her lips with his. It wouldn't be their last kiss, he knew, but that was numbered.

But three weeks.

Maybe he could figure something out in three weeks. A miracle of sorts. Anything could happen, after all. And as she kissed him back, he let himself believe again, just for a breath or two, that this would be alright. That he would figure out a way to stay with her.

Ignorance was bliss, and he intended to live in it for as long as possible.

We'll be alright , he told himself firmly. I'm not letting Lucy go. Not for anything .

He sank further into the kiss and, with it, slipped into lovely, blissful ignorance.